We Are
by daviatella
Summary: A group of young people facing similar hardships learn how to find themselves through vigilantism. As their paths cross, they come to realize not everything about their neighborhood may be as it seems. Set in a vague American setting without any references to canon.
1. Part 1 - Lost - I

**I.**

Jonathan had a normal childhood, a normal upbringing, a regular - if somewhat bumpy - transition through puberty, as well as a normal dream, and why would a kid have any dream other than being a hero? Maybe that's where he'd gone wrong, expecting it all to make sense, to stay the same, to live up to every expectation.

For Jonathan Briggs, life made sense up until it didn't.

* * *

Ever since that day, what should've been another ordinary day, his life was split between the before and the after, the then and the now.

It was a hot June morning, though the clear weather did nothing to soothe his nerves, not with the tryouts for Striker Heroics Academy looming on the near horizon, just a short train ride away. Jonathan had packed up the bare minimum, ate a full breakfast, had the usual short round of good luck's and then set off in the train ride the Academy had arranged for its prospective students.

As the buildings and small blotches of nature scattered across the city drifted by, and he stared at the crowd of silent and equally as anxious faces dotted around the car, time had become a bowl of molasses, thick and viscous and making his stomach just as turbulent as the real thing. The usual circuit of insecurities made its rounds through his thoughts, from his debatable smarts to his inconspicuous quirk, but as his gaze shifted to the window, something else gripped his attention and didn't let go.

Behind the glass, static against the blurry backdrop, was a face staring back at him. The man was a dark shade of red, with eyes of the same color and a manic grin that spread from ear to ear, somehow just shy of ripping through his cheeks. Through a messy patch of dark hair, two sharp red horns emerged.

Before Jonathan found the strength to shout, to even vocalize, a fast series of movements and the man had disappeared onto the top of the train.

His lips began to twitch, heart beating to the same rhythm he heard slowly growing faster above - thump... thump...thump...thump...thumpthumpthumpthu-

**BOOM**

The air sizzled with heat before vanishing into a burst of light that sucked the air from his lungs and swiped the ground from his feet.

For seconds, Jonathan floated in silence as the world around him rang its high pitched scream, melting into shades of red, orange and black.

When the ground finally came beneath his back, the ensuing crash of fatigue might as well have been a moving train.

The next days, if he could call them that, were a blur.

There were flashes of lucidity, voices here and there, his mom, his dad, mortifyingly serious tones. Light came in bursts, when it did at all, but devoid of colors or texture.

When consciousness did reach him, it wasn't with a hug, or warm milk and cookies. A chilling numbness spread from head to toe in slow echoes that repeated whenever he moved, but strangely, stopping just shy of his forearms.

Jonathan tried opening his eyes, one by one, and was met with the circles of light from the ceiling of a hospital bedroom. His room, by the looks of it, since he was alone. Strips of early dawn breached through gaps in the blinds, shining light onto his… body.

Bandages covered just about every inch of his skin, which he was already expecting, save for the fact that on both sides, they also stopped before his forearms. Because these were no longer there at all.

The room slowly curved ninety degrees around him as he lifted his trembling, incomplete arms before his face, and before he knew it, a sudden wail ruptured up his throat and blurred his eyes with water.

Jonathan didn't remember falling asleep, but he did remember waking up, and realizing that the thread he'd been doubtlessly following until then had been cut short. No more hero school. No more heroics at all. Now, without as little as a sense of identity to follow, Jonathan was left stranded in the cold dark.


	2. Part 1 - Lost - II

**II.**

"Now what?" Seemed to be the question on everyone's minds, either that or some repeated form of pity. It'd been a year already, and their reactions hadn't changed at all. Nothing had changed. The attack on the train was never properly investigated, Jonathan still had no path to follow, and the only semblance of closure he'd ever gotten was a pair of bionic prosthetics that would never feel as right as the real thing. His parents remained supportive, as best as they could, but he could easily tell when that support was being stretched thin or overdone. He wasn't stupid. He was just…

His train of thought was cut short by his father's head peeking from his bedroom door. "Hey. We gotta talk."

Jonathan nodded with a sigh, and the large man entered the room. Sometimes, he wished he would've taken after him more, like his muscles or imposing posture, but in the end, all he'd gotten was the same shade of dark brown skin and the 'just ok' quirk he couldn't even use now without his actual hands.

As his father sat on his bed, shifting his gaze to the floor, Jonathan swiveled the computer chair to face him. "Listen, I know it might be… sudden, but your Mom and I were talking, and-"

"You want me to get a job." Jonathan guessed flatly.

"Well, maybe! Not necessarily." He pushed his glasses up the bridge with a warm smile, "It's just… you're almost seventeen already. What do you want from your future, Jon?"

"Is it too predictable to say I don't know?" Jonathan chuckled, as if it would soften the blow.

"No, of course not. What you've gone through is definitely more than most people are willing to endure. We just wanted to help you find a direction, y'know?" He swallowed, "Do you think you're ready to go back to school?"

There it was. As much as he wanted to look away, he kept his gaze firm against his father's. "I don't know either."

"Is it the new prosthetics? Because we could always-"

"No! No." Jonathan blurted, scooting the chair closer to the bed to take his father's hand into his mechanical ones, a new model they'd ordered tailor-made to suit his needs, going up to his elbows. While the shiny steel looked cool, even more responsive than he'd expected, the artificial sense of touch would never replace the real thing. "Look, they're perfect. I just… don't know what to do yet. Give me a month. Maybe- maybe I'll get a job, even. I just need to figure stuff out."

His father smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder, "Take as long as you need. You know, whatever you need, you have our back. Hug?"

As warmth swam across his face then down to his chest, Jonathan didn't find reasons to say no. "Sure."

* * *

Oddly enough, the sudden proposal to his father was the only thing to make him motivated enough in weeks.

HeroHut was the closest grocery store to his house, so that's where Jonathan went first. Before he looked for a better place to work, he figured a grocery store would be a good start, at least let him save up some cash for the future. Even though his arms wouldn't have gotten much attention in the streets - he'd seen weirder quirks often enough - he still opted for a hoodie and gloves, his usual outfit regardless of season.

The building itself was only a short walk away, and pretty much exactly what he was hoping for at the moment - a short and non-threatening two story building with a simple coat of white paint and a big red logo on the front with the store's name.

Just like most days he'd stopped by, the only people inside besides the cashier were a few old men and women slowly making their way from aisle to aisle like big cute turtles - one of them even looked like one if he squinted. The shop's owner, a tall middle-aged woman with short red hair he'd usually spot standing by one of the corners, was nowhere to be seen though.

A sudden cough came from behind him, loud and piercing like the beating of a drum. While he hadn't been able to stop his shoulders from jumping up, Jonathan was glad he managed to keep himself from leaving the ground.

"Are you just gonna stand there?" A woman asked with the slightest southern drawl, "'Cause I kinda wanted to come inside, and you happen to be in the way."

A glance over his shoulder revealed a potential problem. Most of it stemmed from the fact that he'd just found the owner he missed seconds earlier. As he stepped into the store and made way for her to pass, Jonathan made sure their next bout of eye contact was as professional as possible. In contrast, the woman's crossed arms and trench coat covered in fine strands of some animal's hair gave her an aura he could only describe as confusing.

"I'm here for a job, I was wondering if-"

"Cool." The woman interjected, bearing a blank expression and loose posture, "You can start as cashier tomorrow. Jonathan, right? Jonathan Briggs? I think I know your parents. Sorry 'bout that whole mess with your arms."

Trying to ignore the unease building in his chest, Jonathan just cocked his head back and raised an eyebrow, "Thanks, but that's... it?"

"What, did you want a full interview? 'Cause I can go get the contract for you to sign, and then we can both spend a good hour reviewing each point."

"No, yeah, I'm good. Thanks, Mrs..." He stopped, suddenly aware he didn't even know his new boss's name.

"It's Ms, but call me Charlotte." She extended her hands, and he took it with minimal hesitation, "You do know what kind of neighborhood this is though, right?"

"One with few parks?" Jonathan shrugged.

"How many times have you seen a pro around these parts?"

"A hero? I don't know, a few? Why?"

"Because I can guarantee you, if you lived twenty miles away from here in any direction, you'd see 'em tenfold." She sneered, biting a lip as she turned towards the window display and glared at the empty streets as if they'd all been there glaring back. "It's like they don't come here on purpose - that's my theory anyway - and it's not like the police are equipped to deal with the messes I'm dealt. Just stay alert, kid. We get our fair share of problems every now and then."

"Like, robberies?"

"Mostly. Don't do anything stupid, alright? Just… give 'em whatever they want and we'll all be fine." She turned back with a less abrasive look. At the very least, her sharp eyebrows had subsided into slight curves. "I know kids your age sometimes love to play hero, but I'll need you to be smarter than that."

"Yeah, don't…" Jonathan sighed, scratching the back of his head as his gaze turned sheepish, "Don't worry. I get it."

"Then welcome to the HeroHut family, Jon." She smirked, squeezing through both tills to look at him through the other side, between shelves of cereal. "Ain't no one else but the two of us and Bradley over here." She jerked her thumb towards one of the tills, where a bulky young man was hunched over on his chair, fixing his wild dark hair against the reflection on the counter's metallic surface. One of his ears was adorned with a shiny earring.

"Brad, ma'am." He quickly shot back without looking away. Surely enough, when Jonathan looked closer, the crooked badge pinned against his shirt said Brad in neat cursive.

"Nice to meet you," Jonathan said, walking closer to lean against the counter, "Nice earring."

"Yeah, it is." Brad chuckled to himself with a satisfied smile, still locked in a staring contest with his own reflection.

"Cool." Jonathan murmured, looking back to Charlotte with a furrowed brow. In response, she smiled and twirled a finger next to her temple. At the very least, it seemed this place had more to keep him entertained than just old people.

As it turned out, life at HeroHut was as simple as Jonathan could've asked for. He left home the same time every day - usually to enthusiastic smiles from Mom and Dad and a slice of toast waiting for him - helped old ladies with their grocery bags as Brad texted mindlessly on his phone, then went back home once the afternoon began to darken into evening. After a week of the same routine, he was even starting to suspect that maybe Charlotte was exaggerating the neighborhood's dangers for an unknown reason. Life was more fun with conspiracies to believe in.

The fact was, he'd heard of the occasional crime every now and then, a robbery, a few break-ins, one or two proper villain fights, but not daily, or weekly, or anything. Hell, the closest thing he'd seen to an actual crime was one of Brad's shirts one day, pure black with Not A Nerd in big white letters on the front. The very same Brad who annoyed him more by the day, but just enough that it wasn't unbearable. Jonathan hoped it would become endearing with time. For now, it didn't.

"Hey Jon, I gotta head off to a date with this chick from the gym. Could you clean off that juice on the back of aisle three for me?" Brad asked, stuffing his badge into his jeans pockets and already halfway to the door.

"Sure," Jonathan sighed, looking around to find the store empty besides them, "But that's not really juice…" He mumbled under his breath as he walked away to grab one of the mops inside the cabinet with a reluctant grip.

"Cool, thanks bro." He waved over his shoulder, "I owe you one, for real."

And then there was one.

All that stood between the store and complete silence was the light buzzing of the ceiling's long light bulbs and the slow swish swish of Jonathan's mop against the wet floor, along with the occasional plunge into the bucket next to him for more water. Maybe he should've done something - said no for once in his life, but again why bother? At least Brad had stuff to do, real stuff. What would he do with the extra time, fall asleep to a dumb romcom? Spend even more on addictive mobile games?

A break from boredom came from the ringing bell above the front door. A peer through the shelves of food revealed it to be two boys a few years older than him. Both wore baggy clothes and looked as though they'd never seen a comb in their lives, though one of them, with pale green skin and eye bags, also carried a baseball bat slung over his shoulder.

"Can I help you?" Jonathan's voice cracked as he raised its tone, slowly making his way towards them with the mop held tight in both hands.

"Oh, nah, nah, chill out." The other one laughed, giggles slipping through the gaps of his incomplete grin as he slid into the cashier's seat, "Just here to make some withdrawals."

A strong grip curved against Jonathan's lungs, cutting each breath just short. Charlotte's words were blurred against his mind, but the core message remained intact. Don't be stupid .

But his legs hadn't stopped moving, even if at their own slow pace halfway through the aisle. The sound of laughter and paper being shuffled through echoed around him, and above all, it made him pissed. He thought of Charlotte's resigned acceptance, of the smile in each customer's grateful face. Their thank you's. The way some even knew him by name.

And the way these pricks were probably the exact reason Charlotte wasn't as cheerful as them.

As his legs gained traction, defiance cut through the look of worry on his face and settled. One of the boys snapped his head at him, the one with the bat, but Jonathan just put his mop forward in response.

"C'mon, man." The thug snorted, legs dangling from the counter he sat on. "Do you really wanna do this? Two v one?"

"P-Put the money back!" Jonathan growled, stance ready as he held the mop like a wooden staff, "You'll regret it if you don't. I swear."

"Really?" His gaze shifted between Jonathan and the other boy stuffing bills into his pocket, "We'll see about that."

Before Jonathan could process it, the boy jumped in his direction, bat held high behind his head. He reacted by jerking the mop horizontally toward the attack, but once the baseball bat met its length, the wood snapped into two with a loud crack and fell to the ground. The bewilderment as his eyes bounced between both halves of the mop, just out of reach, and the boy's face must've been fuel to the fire, because next time, the bat came quicker, and it didn't come only once. Each time it swung, Jonathan barely avoided it, shuffling backwards as if there was something pulling him back with every move, repelled by the thug's galvanized grin.

Eventually, Jonathan's back met the back wall with a thud and, against his hopes and expectations, the bat didn't come in slow motion. Instead of pain, all he felt was a sudden ripple and a metallic clang - his arm had instinctively shot jolted up to his side, stopping the bat dead in its tracks without a single dent as they twitched against each other like blades locked in combat.

"What?!" The thug yelped, but in his distraction, Jonathan saw a chance. His other hand balled into a fist and then shot towards the thug's stomach. When he coughed, Jonathan did it again, but it still took another to launch him back against a shelf, where a collection of pots and pans descended upon his body and dropped him to the floor with a hellish cacophony.

Only when it was over did Jonathan release the breath he'd been holding. The soreness missing from his arms lodged itself between his lungs, flaring up his throat while simultaneously pulling its walls shut. Each breath came shorter than the last, just when he'd begun to think he didn't need his inhaler anymore.

"What the hell?" The remaining boy cried. Jonathan looked up to find him standing on the other end of the aisle, bearing a mixture of shock and anger.

"I-I told you." Jonathan rasped, taking on a boxing stance as he tried to hide the fact he was putting all of his remaining energies into holding back an asthmatic cough, "Come and get it, buttface!"

The boy charged with a roar, but promptly stumbled onto the bucket and then slipped back into the puddle of not-juice with a drawn out moan of pain.

"Yeah! That's right!" Jonathan barked, fueled by nothing but the warm currents of adrenaline drenching him in prickling warmth, "Woo!"

A different voice cut his victory dance short, "Wow," Charlotte mocked with a deadpan tone from the front door, holding several "Seems like those two had quite a bad fall."

"No, Charlotte, you had to see me, I was-!"

Charlotte crossed her arms with a short smile, "They slipped and they fell , Jonathan. HeroHut doesn't really condone vigilante justice, as an establishment, but accidents happen, and they only happen once . Do you understand?"

Jonathan's eyes went wide, "But I beat the snot out of them! Well, at least out of-"

" Do you understand?" Charlotte repeated, this time with double the weight.

"Yes, ma'am." He swallowed.

"Good. Now help me carry these bozos out through the back."

"Wait!" He reached out with his arm to stop her just as she'd begun to move, "Sorry, but do you have any inhalers lying around?"


	3. Part 1 - Lost - III

**III.**

For the first time in his life, Jonathan had fought actual robbers - villains, really, even though they hadn't used their quirks or anything. And in the moment, it'd just felt right . It had been ages since he'd last felt it, but the feeling was the same - he'd found a thread to follow. Something he could be good at, something with a positive impact!

The fact it was all highly illegal was a potential problem, but Jonathan didn't dwell on that.

For now, it was all a matter of how far he wanted to take it - should he start training again, like he once did for the tryouts to Striker School? Make an outfit? Pick a cool nickname? More importantly, how could he possibly do it without anyone noticing? The answer to the latter came in the unlikely form of Brad, and all the favors he'd already piled up. If Jonathan just used him as a cover, no one would figure it out. At least until Brad proved too dumb to even remember the potential deal.

So a trial run was not only very possible, but also quite a safe bet. The only thing that roamed these streets, as Charlotte had said, were thugs and criminals, burglars and petty thieves. And himself to stop them. No heroes to stop him.

With a newfound sense of energy, Jonathan slid onto the chair by the desk in his room and threw open a notebook, scribbling notes.

* * *

-V. Guidelines-

1- Always keep your face hidden and your identity safe.

* * *

The chilly night air bit into his skin, but Jonathan knew it wouldn't be for long. Crouching by the edge of a low rooftop, he pulled out an old and cheap robot mask from his pocket, one he'd found rummaging the drawers of his cupboard. It wasn't cool or pretty by any means, but at least it kept his face covered up.

* * *

2- Keep your mind focused on the goal: saving civilians and stopping bad guys.

* * *

A cry rang out to his left, on a crooked alleyway leading into a dead end. Jonathan silently moved towards it, pulling the mask and then his gray hood over his head. Some twelve feet down, a thin woman with two blonde braids and big butterfly wings on her back held a small purse in one hand and a knife in the other.

Sitting against a wall on the rough concrete floor was an old lady, one he'd even seen at HeroHut once or twice. He'd helped her bag her groceries, once.

As the butterfly woman jumped away, wings beating, her eyes locked with his behind the mask and she stopped midair, floating up and down.

"Hey," He waved, standing at full height to face her, "I don't think that's yours."

"This is my alleyway, guy!" She pouted, hands at her hips, "Wait, I don't recognize you…" She tilted her head as the edges of her lips curled into an elfish grin, "Are you a vig ? For real?"

"Let's find out." He grinned back, then grabbed her purse-clutching arm and jumped down into the alleyway, using the momentum to slam her down onto the ground. The old lady shrieked in fear at the sight, holding her head between her hands.

" Maybe you need a reminder of why people don't do this." The woman grunted, patting dust off her jacket and leggings as she got back up, "So here's one!" She suddenly lurched toward him, brandishing the knife with a cocky grin.

Jonathan quickly put his arms in an x before his face, and she fell for the trap hook line and sinker, because when he withdrew them, a knife was stuck into his forearm.

"That happens on occasion." He chuckled, pulling it out and, secretly, frantically hoping none of the internals were too badly damaged. The devil on his shoulder whispered a quick temptation, and he couldn't help but fall victim - Jonathan flipped the dagger into the air and then caught it with his hand, only his gloved fingers ended up clutching the blade rather than the hilt. It was moments like these that made him very grateful he couldn't actually feel pain with those hands.

If the desired effect of his intended move was to intimidate with coolness, then whatever this turned out to be did triple that. "F-Fucker!" The woman cursed, stumbling back as her hands trembled, "What are you?"

"Just go, dude. I promise I won't chase."

"Shut up!" She grumbled, but the speed of her wings kept increasing until she jumped back up and flew away with a glare that could only mean a promise of death.

* * *

3 - Apply basic first aid before leaving, if needed.

* * *

As soon as the robber was out of sight, Jonathan shuffled through his back pocket and retrieved an inhaler, turning away from the old lady for a quick second to pull up his mask and use it.

"You okay?" He asked once he was done, picking up the purse from the ground to hand it to her as she stood.

"You're gonna get yourself killed, son." The lady sighed, "But thank you."

"Don't worry about me. All that matters is keeping people like her away."

She squinted, looking him up and down as she held the purse against her chest, "Who are you?"

His gaze dropped to the floor, then back to hers with a smile. "I don't really know either, but I'll figure it out soon enough."


End file.
